


Raindrops

by howelllesters



Series: Moonbow [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Exam Mentions, Fluff, Fluffy Angst, Food mentions, M/M, Mild Alcohol Mentions, Mild Language, Pastel Phil, Punk Dan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-15 10:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howelllesters/pseuds/howelllesters
Summary: Phil can handle the rain as long as Dan’s there to warm him up again.





	

They’re fourteen, and Dan’s drawing on his arm with the blue pen that Phil loaned to him three days ago and will never see again.

He isn’t old enough to get a tattoo yet, so instead he inks in the designs he dreams of with pen in classes, while Phil is doing his work for him, and Dan is lost in a world of intricate patterns and shapes that have _meaning_.

They eat lunch together like they do every day, and head outside, only to find that the heavens have opened. Dan isn’t wearing his blazer, because when does he ever follow uniform rules, and the raindrops attack his temporary artwork. Rivulets of blue run down his arm and stain the rolled up sleeve of his shirt.

Phil sighs and pulls him under some shelter, but Dan just laughs, laughs and tells Phil just to relax and laugh with him.

—

They’re sixteen, and it’s the night of the prom, and July’s heat has brought a thunderstorm with it.

The rain ends as abruptly as it began, but Phil doesn’t even notice. He just stands alone in a secluded area of the patio that belongs to the venue they’re at. This place is beautiful, and the brief storm can’t detract from the trickle of the fountains and the twinkling of the lights, but Phil has barely noticed them.

Instead he presses a hand to his chest pocket, where a tiny lavender flower sits, crushed out of sight. It was picked to match the lavender tie Dan promised he’d wear, except Dan’s inside right now, with a black tie and a dyed fringe and a girl in his arms who looks more Dan’s type than Phil ever could be.

—

They’re eighteen, and it’s the final party of the summer before everyone heads off to uni.

There’s a girl throwing up behind a bush, and a guy pissing into a bottle at the other end of the field, and the bonfire is making it hard to breathe. Stray pieces of ash drift towards them as the wind picks up, and their noses wrinkle at the smell, but giddy on music that’s too loud and alcohol that’s too weak, they put up with it.

The inevitable rain finally puts an end to the rest of the flames, but they’ve long stopped caring past this point.

They just stand there in that field, surrounded by friends who don’t bat an eyelid, and they make up for two years of not talking with a single kiss, that turns into two, and three, and then they lose count.

They are breathless, and it suddenly doesn’t seem to matter that Dan still wears black and Phil still wears lavender.

For a second they gaze at one another, eyes sparkling in the last of the sun, wondering where the hell they’re going to go from here, and then the spell is broken as someone yells that the police are on their way.

They take off together, hand in hand, sprinting across the field and through the woods, laughing until they cry, and as they roll into bed together that night, soaking wet and shivering, they’re still smiling.

Phil presses himself close to Dan and listens to the weather outside long after Dan has dropped off, hoping against hope that he won’t lose him again this time.

—

They’re twenty, and Dan’s meeting Phil’s housemates for the first time.

He pulls up outside the house in his new car, a heap of junk that Phil hates with a passion, with his windows down and music pouring out of them despite the hideous autumn weather. Phil can hear him from two streets away, and pleasure and embarrassment go to war inside him.

One of his housemates call out to him that some idiot’s rocked up outside being a general nuisance, and Phil smiles, heading outside as he tells them that he’ll deal with them.

Five minutes later and Phil’s dragging said idiot inside with him, hand squeezed tightly round Dan’s, still a little dazed by the kiss they’d just shared outside.

Dan intimidates every single one of his housemates, his tall frame hiding the complete lack of muscle Phil knows lies beneath the leather and stained denim, and then Phil drags Dan upstairs so his housemates aren’t scarred permanently.

Turns out the backpack Dan brought with him held some new photoframes for Phil’s room, with photos of the two of them ready to go, a new bracelet, and a vase ready for the flowers that he is informed will be arriving in two days’ time.

They lie on Phil’s new bed for the rest of the afternoon, listening to the rain and each other, and the time for Dan to go home rolls around all too quickly.

Phil watches his car pull away with a lump in his throat, and pretends the drip that lands on his windowsill is from a leak in their rundown student house.

—

They’re twenty two, and it’s raining as Phil goes to bed at three in the morning, and it’s still raining when he wakes up two hours later to go back to revising.

His canvas-clad feet squelch as he enters the exam hall at quarter to nine, bleary eyed and shivering from the relentless weather that attacked him and his revision notes as he battled puddles and stray leaves on his way to campus.

It’s his final exam of the season, and also his least favourite subject and most difficult topic. He knows it won’t go well before he’s even hung his soaked jacket on the back of his seat, and sure enough, he may turn over his paper but he wishes he hadn’t.

Answer three questions, and Phil only knows enough for two, and he wonders if it’s a common occurrence for people to have meltdowns in their exams, wonders if the invigilators will know how to deal with it. All he really wants is his boyfriend, or maybe a puppy, but his boyfriend would be better, except Dan’s at work and won’t be arriving for two more days.

So the rain pours on the metal roof of the sports hall, and Phil’s pen scratches against his paper, and upon submitting two four page answers and one that just about covers a side, he can put down his pen, and he is free.

Phil has never been one for the buzzing of other students after an exam, the analysis that makes his head hurt harder than it did when he was writing the paper, so he just heads for home, trying his hardest to keep in the sobbing until he is safely back in his room, the smile forced on his face almost painful.

Except there’s an air of curiosity around, and Phil risks making eye contact with one of his peers to look up and see what’s causing the commotion.

There’s a boy, with dripping wet, rapidly curling hair, hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket, shoulders hunched, frantically scanning the crowds of people for one face in particular.

“Take me home, please,” Phil manages as he falls into Dan, and Dan doesn’t say another word, just wraps a protective arm around Phil’s shoulders and leads him to his safe, warm car, where he turns the music up loud enough so Phil can cry in peace.

—

They’re twenty four, and it’s the first day of Phil’s new job.

Nervous would be an understatement - he’s changed outfit three different times, even though Dan has pointed out that one of the most basic aspects of radio is that it can only be heard. No one’s going to care if he wears the daisy shirt or the baby blue shirt.

Dan’s words are lost on Phil though and he eventually sets off an hour early, with his bumblebee shirt and his brand new notebook and a kiss for luck. Phil’s one of the youngest presenters the station has hired, and he desperately needs to make a good impression. He needs to get off to a good start, even if just to reassure himself that he deserves this.

News at eight, weather and travel at five past - storms forecast for the afternoon and heavy traffic on the M1 southbound, what’s new - and then he’s away, chattering to his audience and seamlessly playing music as if he’d been doing it his whole life.

There are mixed reactions to his show online, and even as Dan tries to confiscate every electronic device in the house that night, Phil still insists on searching through his phone as they lie together in bed, predicted storm rumbling on around them.

The majority are positive, but Phil’s favourite comment is on a photo the station posted of him just before his show.

_I need this shirt. Where do I find the shirt? This is a matter of urgency._

Phil’s smug, and Dan rolls his eyes, and they settle down together, and Phil can’t help thinking he probably wouldn’t be going back tomorrow if it weren’t for the endless encouragement from the man next to him right now.

—

They’re twenty six, and the sun shone too brightly for photos in the day and now it’s raining too hard for anyone to enjoy being outdoors in the evening, but that’s what they get for choosing to marry in October.

“Oi, Lester.”

“What is it, Lester?”

Dan rolls his eyes and Phil grins, but the smile is soon wiped off his face as his husband grabs his hand and pulls him through a backdoor into the downpour.

Phil’s grumbling about their suits and their hair and the way Dan’s eyeliner might run and Phil’s incredibly expensive bespoke tie might get ruined, but Dan ignores him completely and keeps tugging him along. Hand in hand they edge through the marquee and the sheltered grounds, and Phil hopes that maybe Dan will stop here, because it’s pretty damn cold, but no such luck.

They dance by themselves in the rain that night, Phil’s head buried in Dan’s chest where it has fit perfectly ever since Dan had a growth spurt in his early twenties. It’s odd that Phil remembers something like this at such a moment, but here he is.

Dan rests his chin on the top of Phil’s head, suffering from more of the rain because of it, but he doesn’t mind, not really. He’s spent years chasing away Phil’s thunderstorms, and he has no intention of stopping anytime soon.

—

They’re twenty four, and for the first time, Dan’s staying home and Phil’s heading off to work.

Dan isn’t sure Phil even notices when he forces him to eat two slices of toast as he’s racing around their apartment, nor when he fixes the buttons on Phil’s shirt which he proceeds to take off two seconds later anyway, nor when he hands him a pair of socks just in time for Phil to put them on before his shoes.

Half-concerned Phil won’t even make it to the station at all with the breakneck speed at which he’s racing out the door, Dan settles in for a day of chewing his nails, sending a good luck text every half hour, and waiting for Phil to return home.

When he finally does, he looks exhausted but exhilarated, and grateful that Dan’s steering him into a chair and setting down a steaming hot bowl of soup in front of him.

They curl up in bed that night and Dan’s arm is a little tighter round Phil, his legs tangled with Phil’s more than they usually would be. There were so few negative comments about his show, but they existed all the same, and if Dan had his way, no one would ever be able to say anything less than the best about the man in his arms.

Dan presses kisses to Phil’s hair, his neck, his jaw, just to remind him how he feels, and eventually he falls asleep, content with knowing he’s warmed Phil up enough to stop him shivering, loved him enough to stop him worrying.

—

They’re twenty two, and the sky has cleared enough for them to go out this afternoon.

Phil is unusually quiet, and Dan doesn’t bother asking what’s happened, because he figured out all he needed to when he caught sight of Phil leaving the exam hall earlier. His shoulders were slumped, his bleached denim jacket was hung lifelessly from his arm, and his face was pale, jaw set, the only movement his quivering lip.

So now they’re heading to the park, because Dan refuses to allow Phil to wallow all afternoon. He let him have his cry, let him dry his tears on Dan’s thumbs and shirt, and then he forced him to have a bite to eat, and now they’re leaving the house.

The rain from earlier has left droplets on the flowers, and they sparkle if the sun catches them the right way. They walk around the gravelly path slowly, silently, hand in hand, content with quiet company. Nothing much is said for hours really, but by the time Dan’s taking his sleepy boyfriend home, a restless night catching up with him, he’s sure he can see that same flower sparkle in Phil’s eyes once more.

—

They’re twenty, and Dan’s experiencing a rare moment of nervousness.

He squashes it down though, because he knows this is important to Phil, and contrary to what his beat up leather jacket says, Dan doesn’t mind being nice and making new friends.

The miserable drizzle stops about ten minutes away from Phil’s house, which Dan is begrudgingly grateful for, because the tops of his legs were actually getting quite wet from the rolled-down car windows. The temporary reprieve allows him to steal a moment with Phil outside when he pulls up, kissing his boyfriend like he hasn’t seen him in two months, not two weeks.

Wrapping his arms around Phil and giving him a tight hug, the kind that Phil says warm him up, Dan kisses the top of his head and then asks to go inside, hoping he makes the right impression.

Phil’s room is pretty basic, but then he is on a student budget and refuses to accept Dan’s help, despite the fact he’s had a solid job since leaving school. All that really matters is that there’s a bed, a bed that’s big enough to fit them both, Phil’s head on Dan’s chest and Dan curled up around Phil.

They watch the raindrops race, and Dan tries to block out the grey by telling Phil where he thinks the sunflowers he’s ordered should go. Phil disagrees with every suggestion, because he actually has a clue about design and appearance, but it’s the thought that counts. Phil laughs, and that’s all he wanted.

—

They’re eighteen, and there’s a smile and a sunset competing to outshine one another.

Dan narrows his eyes against the last sharp rays of the sun being cast across the fields they’ve taken over, not needing to look at the pastel hues of the sky when the prettiest sight is sat just a few metres from him, giggling over something that Dan desperately wants to be a part of.

He stretches his long legs out in front of him, the log he’s perched on not doing much for his comfort, and pretends he isn’t desperately trying to listen in to Phil’s conversation, pretend he doesn’t look at the boy once every five seconds and drink in the way his legs look in those grey skinnies, the way his shoulders have broadened to fill out short-sleeved button-ups in the very best way.

Setting down his bottle on a sturdy tuft of grass, Dan abandons his own friends and wanders over to the group, careful to stand in a place that doesn’t cast a shadow over Phil.

“Hi,” Dan says as Phil looks up at him expectantly, cocking his head in surprise at Dan’s greeting.

“Hi,” Phil says, almost automatically, pushing himself up off the grass and wandering to the side, clearly meaning for Dan to follow.

Phil pauses and spins to face Dan, the sun reflecting in those eyes that have always been the most ridiculous colour, and the glint makes Dan’s breath catch, makes him want to be spontaneous for the first time in a long time.

—

They’re sixteen, and it’s hot, it’s so hot on this dancefloor, and Dan is burning.

How he got here, what he’s been given to drink, he doesn’t know, but the tie he didn’t want to wear is too tight round his neck, the girl he didn’t want to dance with is too close to his body, and his head is spinning. Everyone is screaming and laughing around him, and he’s the centre of attention except for once he doesn’t want that.

Something nudges at the far corner of his mind, something about lavender and a blush and a smile, but it’s hot, it’s too hot on this dancefloor, and he can’t focus, so he just carries on, carries on even though he’s sure he can’t burn this brightly without burning out altogether.

—

They’re fourteen, and Dan’s drawing raindrops on his arm, that look pretty when they run into one another and turn his skin into a thunderstorm.

He doesn’t know why he likes the rain, doesn’t think anyone likes the rain, not really, but maybe he’ll figure it out one day.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ollie, my fave, as a ‘congrats’ kind of a fic and also just a ‘you’re great’ kind of a fic. Was originally inspired by the downpours we had last week; they’re scheduled to start again tomorrow, so that should be fun!


End file.
